


As Legend Foretold (He Chased and Caught the Sun)

by Ellory



Series: Creature Wizarding Culture [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creature Harry, F/M, Genderbending, Prejudice, Speciesism/Classism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: “The sun is far, far away. It burns like Pompeii. I wondered if it was even possible to Catch the sun.”





	As Legend Foretold (He Chased and Caught the Sun)

“Be safe!”

“Watch out for the cubs.”

“Explore the Forbidden Forest and kill some of the denizens who dwell there!”

Hisolda Potter waved goodbye to her parents before boarding the Hogwarts Express. Her siblings rubbed their heads against the bottom of her chin, and then they rushed off to join their friends. Her neck felt too exposed, but her new haircut had been her idea; it was a chunky layered bob, longer in the front than the back. It caused her hair to flow like a crow’s wings.

Feathering a hand through her shorn locks, Hisolda traced her bare neck. It felt naked. Years of hair covering it had provided security. That was no longer the case.

She snarled as she remembered the past summer. It had been the worst of all. Her temper had been on a short trigger; she had almost savaged several members of the pack. One night, she came just short of ripping out Remus Lupin’s throat. It wasn’t so much that he was a Turned, while she was a pureblood werewolf, that caused the incident. It was because he dared to stare into her eyes. He wouldn’t look away or back down, and she wouldn’t allow such disrespect.

Hisolda was an Alpha. 

Including her grandfather Charlus Potter and her father James Potter, their pack had three Alphas. Her grandmother and mother were powerful, yes, but they weren’t true Alphas, regardless of their mates’ powers and status.

On his best day, Lupin might be a Gamma rank wolf. However, he was an Omega at heart. He would bare his belly and crawl around and serve as entertainment for those better than him. Hisolda didn’t usually mind. She would even go so far as to say that she liked Remus Lupin. He was amusing. Yet, his close friendship with her father gave him ideas above his station. If she had been a mere pureblood, she wouldn’t have cared. Hisolda wasn’t a pureblood witch, though—weak, fragile, easy to break and defenseless without a wand. She was a pureblood werewolf, able to shift forms whenever she desired—not dependent upon the moon like the Turned. She was stronger, faster, and better.

Hisolda was superior in every way.

Foolish, thick Remus had stared right into her eyes, as if he didn’t understand werewolf etiquette at all, even though he had been one since he was five years old. His gaze had challenged her position as an Alpha. That was unacceptable. Who did he think he was to treat her so disdainfully, intentionally or not?

She had snapped.

If Hisolda’s father hadn’t transformed and slammed into her side, pushing her away from Remus, he would be dead. Then the infamous Marauders, her father’s precious sub-pack, would have been down to two members. Peter Pettigrew, the traitor, had died in the war against the Dark Lord Voldemort soon after her whelping. 

“All aboard!”

Students rushed past her. None of them touched her. They were too smart; they had learned their lesson. While she was able to control her wolf and pretend that she was civilized and kind, nothing could be further from the truth. It was just a veneer of civility that she deigned to don when she felt like doing so. The pureblood heirs and heiresses were useless creatures. They believed that love was sonnets, bouquets of flowers, and jewels. They thought courting was holding hands and daring to steal kisses.

Hisolda pitied them. She pitied their pathetic understanding of Magic.

It amused her, on occasion, that purebloods, half-bloods, and new bloods looked down on her kind. Her connection with and grasp of Magic was greater than theirs would ever be. Werewolves, Veela, Naga, Mermaids, and other beings were Magic’s first children—her favorites. Sometimes she had a childish urge to stick out her tongue and say, “Mother loves us best!”

But that would be behavior worthy of a cub, and Hisolda was all grown up.

Frustrated at her wandering thoughts, Hisolda forced her attention back to the present. She carded her fingers through her hair once more. Baring her neck meant that she was searching for a mate. As much as she loved her family, she needed to get away from them. Their pack had too many Alphas and not enough territory. She didn’t want to start a civil war because her instincts were encouraging her to carve out something for herself.

“Alpha?”

Hisolda glanced down at the cub. Female. Brown hair. A cub from the Greyback Pack, by the smell of her. “Yes?” At least this cub was raised well. The cub offered her the proper deference, title, and kept her gaze on the floor of the train.

“Alpha Greyback has requested your presence in the Prefects’ carriage. He would like to get the meeting over with as quickly as possible.”

Oh? Well, it wasn’t particularly surprising that Alpha Sköll Greyback was the Head Boy. Hufflepuffs were often chosen, and he had more than earned it. Anyone who could tolerate the stench of so many lesser creatures lusting after him deserved a position of recognition. It was insulting for the students to assume they had any chance to be with Sköll, let alone partake in the Chase.

Sköll’s brother Hati attended Durmstrang, and was Alpha of the lands the Greyback Pack held in that part of Europe. Sköll was Alpha of Ireland and Wales. Both of Fenrir Greyback’s sons ruled without interference from their father, even though Fenrir was Alpha of the overall pack, regardless of where they might be in the world.

“What’s your name, cub?” Hisolda liked having a name attached to every scent in her memory; it was safer that way. She could hunt down threats and destroy them.

“Delilah.”

Hisolda rubbed her wrist against Delilah’s cheek, to scent-mark the cub. She was the only Alpha female that was attending Hogwarts. So, by default, all the cubs belonged to her during the school year. She was, quite literally, their den mother. There weren’t many pureblood werewolves at Hogwarts, but there was a decent amount. Hisolda was just grateful there weren’t any Turned attending Hogwarts. Their lack of control was appalling.

“Go sit with my siblings. You’ll be safe there.” Her siblings knew better than to kick up a fuss. Fighting between werewolves was an ugly, bloody battle. Feuds between the packs would cause nothing but harm. Since their instincts to protect were so fierce, she often played mediator and diplomat.

“Thank you, Alpha.” Delilah scampered toward the compartment Hisolda’s siblings claimed.

Hisolda continued down the hallway to the Prefects’ carriage. The badge on her Hogwarts robes was shiny, and had pleased her parents. She was accustomed to responsibility (protecting and disciplining others) and assumed that was why Professor McGonagall had chosen to make her the fifth-year prefect for Gryffindor House. She would be able to sniff out rule-breakers. It was a win-win scenario.

The door opened before she could touch it. Sköll stood on the other side, no longer towering over her. Hisolda was now five-foot-nine to his six-foot-one. His hair was gray, like his sire’s; it fell to his shoulders. He was broad and muscled. His face was all sharp angles and bone structure. But his eyes were unique, setting him apart from the rest of his pack; they were the color of blue lace agates. Jew-toned eyes were a hallmark of pureblood werewolves; her own were peridot. 

Sköll made a stunning visual.

“Sol.” Sköll’s teeth gleamed as he smiled at her. He stroked her exposed neck without lowering his gaze, which would be seen as submitting. “You look as desirable as ever.”

It never failed to amuse Hisolda that he shortened her name to something that meant ‘sun’. Because in Norse mythology, Sköll was Fenrir’s son—the one who spent all of his time chasing the sun. According to legend, he would consume the sun during Ragnarök: the end of the world.

“Thank you, Sköll.” She smirked. “And you sound as bossy as ever. Really, Sköll? Sending a cub off to fetch me? Where’s the fun in that?” Hisolda grabbed his chin and pulled him closer. “Not skilled enough to track and Catch me yourself, Sköll?” She flicked him on the nose like an unruly puppy. “For shame.”

Sköll growled; it rumbled from his chest and filled the compartment. Several of the prefects squeaked in terror, much to Hisolda’s amusement. “Sol, that almost sounded like you want me to Chase you. Watch your words. I never lose the scent of my prey, and I always succeed on a hunt.”

“Almost?” Hisolda dragged her nails down his right cheek, but not hard enough to break the skin. He didn’t deserve to be blooded yet. “Either your hearing is equivalent to that of a Turned, or you’re slower than usual today.” Snarling, Sköll bit for her hand. She yanked it back before his teeth could pierce her flesh for the bitter insult. 

“Uh, w-we should st-start the m-meeting.”

“Did I say the meeting could begin?” Sköll spat at the Head Girl. She was a Ravenclaw Hisolda didn’t recognize, though she smelled somewhat familiar.

“Eek!”

Hisolda rolled her eyes, not impressed in the least. Sköll wasn’t going to physically attack her; he was just putting her in her place. He wouldn’t want to be responsible for creating a Turned. In fact, the only one in history she could remember the Greyback Pack ever creating was Remus Lupin—and that was because his father (Lyall Lupin) described werewolves as “soulless, evil, deserving of nothing but death”.

Sköll stalked toward the head of the compartment, back turned to her. Hisolda gritted her teeth at the insult. Yes, he was powerful, but that didn’t mean he would have time to react if she decided to maul him from behind. Unless . . . he was trusting her to protect his back? Given the cruel comment she had delivered a minute ago, she doubted it was the latter.

Instead of sitting in the empty seat next to Seamus Finnegan (and how in the world, precisely, had he gotten the prefect badge?), Hisolda followed Sköll to the front of the compartment. She brushed past the gawping Head Girl and then sat in the girl’s seat at Sköll’s side. Hierarchy mattered to werewolves, and none of these girls were above her. They never would be.

She wrinkled her nose as the scent of emotions flooded the room. “Don’t close the door. The smell of jealousy and lust is making me nauseous. Do show some self-control.” It probably sounded hypocritical to the students, but Hisolda didn’t see it that way. They had no right to be jealous of her or Sköll, and she didn’t want to know which of them had inspired the lust. If a werewolf experienced those same emotions in her presence, it would be different. Her own kind had a right to such reactions. 

“We would never stoop to Mating with any of you,” Sköll said with a sneer. 

The prefects bristled or blushed, depending on the person in question. Hisolda didn’t understand why they were offended. Werewolves were favored children of Magic; they didn’t suppress their instincts or lock away their emotions or keep their distance and act as if physical affection was something of which to be ashamed. Werewolves coddled and cuffed their cubs in public; they would nuzzle each other, sleep in piles, seek comfort and reassurance, and other such ‘unseemly displays’. They also didn’t bother to hide behind polite words and false smiles, unless they were feeling vicious or playful.

Sköll snapped his fingers. “The schedules, Clearwater.”

Hmm. Now that Hisolda thought about it, the girl did look like Penelope Clearwater, who was Head Girl just two years ago. A younger sibling? No, the scent wasn’t close enough. A cousin, most likely.

“As you can see, these are your schedules for patrolling the school for the rest of the year. I made them. They will not change. Unless you’re in the hospital wing or dead, I expect you to do your rounds,” Sköll stated. He was passionate about the topic. Hisolda knew why; patrolling and protecting was part of their nature as Alphas. In Hogwarts, he and she ruled. They took care of what was theirs. Even if these students were weak and assigned by the Headmaster himself, instead of their chosen Paladins who guarded their territory, they had no excuse to slack off. “If you think that your new duties are beyond your abilities, resign your post now.”

Hisolda took the offered paper out of Clearwater’s hands and perused it. Every time she was scheduled, Sköll had assigned himself as her companion. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He returned it, daring her to complain. Why should she? He was more tolerable than everyone else in the compartment. Any of the other males would’ve likely convinced themselves into making a play for her, and the Headmaster always got upset when she sent people to the hospital wing. 

It wasn’t her fault that they hadn’t learned to keep their words to themselves.

Clearwater ended up standing next to the chair she had stolen. It set Hisolda on edge. Alphas didn’t let people stand above them, because it was reminiscent of submitting. If Clearwater had been shorter than her seated position, it wouldn’t have mattered. As it was, Hisolda battled the instinct to slam the girl into the floor, transform just her claws, and savage Clearwater’s face. 

The Head Girl kept rambling, explaining their duties as prefects, as if none of them had bothered to read the pamphlets of information and expectations that arrived with the badges. “You are expected to act with decorum at—”

“Hisolda!”

Hisolda rose from her seat as the scent of violence and blood wafted through the door behind Luna Lovegood: her Beta. “What happened?”

“Marietta Edgecombe and Cho Chang thought I needed a collar. I disabused them of the notion,” Luna said. Her once-long hair was gone, replaced by an A-line cut. It had more wave to it now that it was short. Her eyes flared with hatred.

“Hati’s going to be pissed when he finds out,” Sköll stated, voice blank. That didn’t last long. “Hell, I’m pissed on his behalf. They dared to attack my brother’s Troth in my territory?” He growled, a gritty, ferocious sound.

That’s new, Hisolda thought. Her gaze darted down to Luna’s neck; a gray paw print marked her skin. So . . . Hati had captured the moon. Interesting. His brother’s success must be driving Sköll mad. If Sköll skinned his prey right, he could win in the end, though. Because Hisolda was of age to Mate, and Luna was still fourteen.

“Are they alive?” 

The prefects paled and pressed backward in their seats in response to Hisolda’s question.

Luna met her searching gaze for just a moment before dropping it and nodding. “Only because I hate it when Headmaster Dumbledore’s eyes don’t twinkle.”

“Pity,” Sköll said. He caressed Hisolda’s neck, fingers encircling her throat. “I rather imagine Hati would prefer them dead.” His touch wasn’t unwelcome. “I know I would.”

“If anyone had tried that on Hisolda, they would be dead,” Luna said. She was correct, of course. Hisolda wasn’t some mutt to be collared and leashed—no pureblood werewolf deserved that.

“Rounds. Now,” Sköll barked. His command sent the prefects scuttling past Luna and out into the hallway of the train for their patrols.

“Do you need me for containment?” Hisolda asked. She was a talented Healer, but she wouldn’t waste her skills on anyone who attacked a member of her pack, even if that pack member wasn’t blood.

Luna chuckled; it was airy and sounded not-altogether-sane. “No. I just wanted to give my report before you heard something from someone else. I’ll take my leave now, if you don’t need me.” She tilted her head to the right, opening herself to attack, and then left.

Hisolda decided to join the cubs and make sure no one was harassing them. Her patrol shift didn’t start for two hours. Despite her expectations, Sköll didn’t release his grip when she tried to leave. “Sköll, what are you doing?” He had no right to keep her there.

“You never answered me, Sol.”

“You didn’t ask me a question. You made a statement,” she countered stubbornly.

Sköll slid an arm around her waist and forced her backward until he surrounded her. She didn’t fight the action. His smooth cheek brushed against hers as he nuzzled her; it sickened her to think of a wizard doing the same. A wizard’s face would be scratchy, and a sign of affection and trust would become uncomfortable at best. “Sol, would you welcome me on your Chase?”

“My father and grandfather may have settled for less, but I am Alpha. It would take a supremely skilled Alpha to win my Chase,” Hisolda whispered. She didn’t understand how her father and grandfather could have Mated with Betas, even though she loved her grandmother and mother. The power dynamics were too skewed. She wouldn’t tolerate that in her own Mating.

He scraped his teeth across the nape of her neck; shivers traveled down her spine. “Give me a chance to catch the sun.” It was a plea as much as it was a demand.

The heat encasing Hisolda was nice. The smell of his desire wasn’t distasteful, as it was on the wizards. It was right that he felt this way; his interest pleased her. He inspired similar feelings in her and she decided to see if, like the Sköll of legend, he could manage to capture the sun. “Then Chase me, Sköll. Chase me until your paws and fur bleed. Chase me until your tongue dries. And if you manage to get close enough, Catch me.”

“Hunt accepted.”

* * *

A sharp pain spiked in her ear. Hisolda shook her head, sending the wolf cub tumbling off her back and down to the grass. She spent her free periods behind the greenhouses sunning herself; several of the cubs often joined her. And when they tired of mock fighting, they would clamber all over her, begging for attention. It wasn’t within her to deny them. Cubs needed love and attention.

She didn’t understand how the humans could part with their children so easily. The purebloods gave their children away for an entire year when they were only five—just infants who had no way of protecting themselves.

The only way pureblood werewolves would allow their cubs to attend Hogwarts, or any other school of witchcraft and wizardry, was if at least one Alpha were present. Alphas were quick to defend their packs, but especially the cubs. Cubs were the future. Losing the future meant failure and death for the pack.

Hisolda smelled him before she saw him. She opened her eyes halfway, just as Sköll skulked around the nearest greenhouse and into sight. He was seventeen hands tall, and his gray fur rippled in the sunlight. It was captivating, as it had always been to her. Those from the true Greyback line all had gray fur, regardless of with whom they Mated.

If Sköll wins my Chase, my cubs will have gray fur. It wasn’t a displeasing thought. His fur and her eyes would make for stunning cubs, though his eyes were also delightful.

He padded over and then sat behind her. His massive tail curled around her, twitching out of the reach of the cubs whenever they dove for it. His tongue hung from his mouth in a wolfish grin.

Their play was disrupted when a twig snapped in the Forbidden Forest.

Sköll shot to his feet and stood over her and the cubs, who stopped frolicking and raced to her side. His fangs glistened as he snarled at the threat. Acromantula smelled of rot and desiccation; this wasn’t the first time one had attempted to steal a cub, and it wouldn’t be the last. Hisolda had killed several of the colony over the years, but the stupid creatures never learned their lesson. They returned again and again for their fatal punishment.

Hisolda didn’t even bother to get up when Sköll slaughtered the intruder. She wouldn’t insult him by implying he couldn’t kill the threat on his own. Such behavior would be worthy of a Turned.

A howl of a successful hunt filled the air. She and the cubs joined in the song.

The Acromantula lay mauled on the forest floor, and Sköll returned to her side. He snuffled against her fur. Even though she hadn’t been anywhere near the massacre, he checked her for injuries. Once he finished inspecting her, he sniffed all the cubs. Then he sat and began to clean the blood off his fur.

This is what it would be like to have him for my mate, Hisolda thought. He would be protective and attentive. He would be victorious.

Intrigued at the prospect, she finished cleaning his fur for him. He growled his pleasure. And when Hisolda was done, he covered her with his tail as she stretched and took a nap, cubs balled up all along her stomach.

* * *

“Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this weekend?” Draco Malfoy asked. He was the Malfoy Heir, the eldest of the three Malfoy children. He was also a Veela; if he had been a wizard, she would have been insulted at the offer. But Veela understood Magic. They were another race that Magic favored.

“Sol is otherwise engaged,” Sköll said, seeming to appear out of nowhere. 

She hadn’t even smelled him coming. Was Draco’s Allure messing that badly with her sense of smell? “I don’t have plans yet,” Hisolda retorted. She hadn’t granted Sköll a solitary Chase. Others still had the option of Catching her—if they dared.

“Yes, you do.” Sköll met her stare and refused to back down. “We’re having lunch in Diagon Alley.”

An eavesdropper snorted. “How can you eat in Diagon Alley on a Hogsmeade weekend.”

Bad move, Hisolda thought. The fastest way to piss off an Alpha was to speak to one in a condescending or dismissive tone. Alphas couldn’t stand it. Hisolda, in particular, loathed it. Being female didn’t make her any less of an Alpha; her fangs and claws were just as able to disembowel and eviscerate annoyances.

“There’s a rare bit of magic that you might not have heard about. It would be understandable, of course, since only adults can perform it,” Sköll snarled, piercing the interloper with his full attention. “It’s called Apparation. Since I’m an adult, I learned all about it.”

The boy in Gryffindor robes rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he brushed past Sköll, intentionally bumping into him. “Potter, you look lovely today. Join me for dinner.”

Hisolda would give him points for bravery, but it wouldn’t bring him out of the hole he had dug with his stupidity.

Sköll slammed the boy against the nearest wall, holding him in the air by his neck. Rage rolled out like a tsunami, cresting higher. “Don’t give Sol orders. You’re not fit to breathe the air she exhales. You’re weak, unintelligent, and crass. You have nothing that would appeal to a pureblood female Alpha werewolf. Stop reaching for the sun, whelp, before you die in space.” Bruises blossomed on the boy’s neck as Sköll dropped him.

His behavior wasn’t what was expected of the Head Boy, but no one who witnessed the scene would be stupid enough to report him for it. For Hisolda, it was darkly attractive.

“Now, then, where was I?” Sköll smoothed the wrinkles in his robes and focused on Draco once more. “How’s your fire, Malfoy? If you really want to escort Sol, you’ll need it.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Draco said. He bowed to Hisolda.

Sköll bristled, as if Draco’s words were a mortal insult. “Are you saying she’s not worth fighting for?” Frigid, burning anger.

Hisolda would have been upset herself if she thought that was Draco’s reasoning. Yet, she knew her fellow year-mate wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t offer to escort her and back out because he was a coward. He was a Slytherin, but that wasn’t synonymous with cowardice; cunning was something werewolves appreciated. What was the best way to track the prey, hunt the prey, and bring the prey down?

“Of course she is,” Draco replied, before heading toward the dungeons. “I just don’t see the point in fighting you when she’s not interested in me.” He waved dismissively and went down the stairs into shadow.

“Oh? That’s enlightening,” Sköll said. His eyes were an inferno of instincts. His skin rippled, as if it took every drop of control he possessed not to shift and attack everyone who showed the least amount of desire for her. He was raring to battle his competitors for the right to her. It was a glorious sight. 

A heady feeling of power came over Hisolda as she recognized his more feral urges. It felt wondrous to be wanted so desperately.

* * *

“Diagon Alley has changed since the last time I was here,” Hisolda said as she gazed upon the towering trees that surrounded her. There was a mountain range to her left, which already had snow on the peaks. There wasn’t a shop or other person around. “I thought you were taking me to lunch.”

“I am, Sol.” Sköll grinned a wild, assured grin. “Let me hunt for you.” He touched her stomach, rubbing patterns that were distracting.

Oh. He wanted to provide for her already? That was interesting. Hunting gifts were very special. Something to be treasured, really. She had never given one before; she had received many, though. The cubs who made their first kills at Hogwarts often brought the kills to her for recognition. Some went to Sköll, of course, but most presented them to Hisolda.

Hisolda moved away from him and made herself comfortable against a tree. “Don’t make me wait long.”

Sköll shifted, butted his head against her chest, and then sped off. He covered the distance with a ground-eating gallop. He howled the hunting song and was answered by the panicked cry of animals. 

What would it be like to hunt with him? she wondered. What would it be like to run beside him, to leap over logs, splash through streams, weave through trees? What would it be like to corner prey, to attack, to outsmart it, to win—together?

“It would be fun,” Hisolda admitted.

Twenty minutes later, the scent of blood filled her nostrils, whetting her appetite. Sköll entered the small clearing, dragging an elk, its shattered foreleg clenched between his teeth. He shifted back and gave a bloody grin. “I hope you’re hungry.”

To the pureblood witches, the sight would be gruesome. She snickered as she imagined them fainting and cracking their skulls open on the rocks. Those witches were so stupid, thinking money was everything. What happened if there was another Goblin rebellion? If the family fortune was lost? If there wasn’t enough food to eat? If the manor burned down? If someone wanted them dead, where would they hide? Sköll was wealthy, and so was she. Yet, they knew how to survive without money, without wands, without manors, and without the niceties of polite society. If enemies sought them, they had dens that were Hidden and Paladins to protect the land.

Hisolda stalked forward and licked the blood off his face. “Famished.”

* * *

“If you want to procreate, do it somewhere that I can’t smell you!” Hisolda ordered after throwing open the broom cupboard door. The Ravenclaw boy and Gryffindor girl squeaked in fright and fled, clothes haphazard and thoroughly disheveled. 

Sköll, wisely, didn’t say a word.

Irritation rankled Hisolda. Her skin felt too tight. The signs were clear; her Heat would be soon. Sköll shadowed her steps through the school as they finished their rounds.

When they reached the hallway that split off to Gryffindor Tower, Sköll said, “We need to talk. Tonight.”

She knew why he wanted to talk. Since Hisolda had given him permission to Chase her, Sköll wanted to know if he had proven himself enough to Catch her, to Mate her. If she found his efforts wanting, he would have to wait another year, spend it impressing her, and hope he could change her mind before anyone else won the Chase. 

“No, we don’t.”

Before he could object, Hisolda shifted her fangs and bit his neck. Her lower jaw crunched into his collarbone, and her upper fangs sank near his spine. Surprise overpowered Sköll’s scent, only to be conquered by passionate triumph. He howled through shifting vocal cords before returning the favor and marking her as well. It started out as the worst pain Hisolda had ever experienced, but then their healing factors kicked it, sealing around the teeth. They loosened their hold slowly, prying their enamel from tender flesh, and leaving a perfect imprint of their fangs. 

Their Mating Marks were complete.

Sköll picked her up and sprinted through Hogwarts, so fast he was almost a blur. He didn’t slow down until a portrait opened, and then closed behind them. He set her on her feet in a room that reeked of his scent; it dominated the space, almost blocking the smell of the fireplace. “At Hogwarts, this is our den.”

He watched her with covetous eyes as she walked around the room, trailing her hands along furniture and rubbing up against walls. Their scents mingled together. Joined, they smelled like belonging, not alone, and mine, but yours.

“Father laughed himself hoarse when he found out Hati Caught the moon.” Sköll prowled after her. “I was jealous, at first, but I got over that quickly. The moon is close. The moon is cold. The moon is easy to Catch.” Hisolda entered his bedroom, and he followed her, as he had been for a very long time. “The sun is far, far away. It burns like Pompeii. I wondered if it was even possible to Catch the sun.”

Hisolda felt the fever under her skin rising in temperature. It ached for relief. “What will he do when he learns that Sköll Caught the sun?”

Sköll pressed her into the mattress and nuzzled her cheek. Hisolda returned the gesture. His scent was overwhelming. “Prepare for Ragnarök.”

She buried her fingers in his hair and devoured his lips; he tasted of constrained violence and unreachable power. “And you? Will you prepare for the end of the world?”

Sköll plundered Hisolda’s mouth and petted her scorching skin. “Oh, Sol, don’t you know? This isn’t an ending.” His ministrations left her light-headed and dazed. “It’s the exact opposite, Sol. This is our beginning.”


End file.
